For the Ones Who Live Long, but Do Not Prosper
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: The Vulcan, cloaked in deep, rich folds of black, sits silent in his room. He is alone and the world around him is silent. Surely it seems as though the world itself has stopped turning. In fact, it has not. Life continues. All except for one. Post-Generations. Spoilers. Categorised as TOS because it's about Spock and Spock's relationship with Kirk. T for topic of death and angst.


**For the Ones Who Live Long, but Do Not Prosper**

The Vulcan, cloaked in deep, rich folds of black, sits silently in his room. He is alone and the world around him is silent.

Surely it seems as though the world itself has stopped turning. In fact, it has not. Life continues. All except for one.

James T. Kirk has been killed in an unfortunate accident.

The man had been presumed dead for many months, many long months that had left his friends to grieve and mourn the loss.

But not the Vulcan.

Never the Vulcan, for it is not in his nature to grieve and mourn.

Perhaps it is not so. Perhaps it was simply a case of a desperate whim, a wish that someone important had not been killed that had kept the Vulcan so calm during the past years. Perhaps it was hope that had kept the Vulcan completely in tact while the rest of the _Enterprise_ crew had fallen to pieces around him.

But, as of late- merely hours- a new Captain of a new ship had returned to command to say that he had witnessed the death of James T. Kirk. The final proof.

James Kirk had taken his final breath whilst remembering the _Enterprise_. That was not to be forgotten nor overlooked.

The crew had taken it poorly. For the ones that were still living the legacy, they had long ago accepted that their Captain had been killed. It was with joy that they realized that they had been wrong, only for the happiness to be for naught with the resolution of the tale.

James Kirk had died saving lives. He had died doing what he loved, but he had died all the same.

The Vulcan took it in the Vulcan way, without emotion. Everyone had looked to him for his reaction, but there had not been one. Just a simple inclination of the head and a downcast gaze. It was the most emotion expected from a Vulcan.

Perhaps that is not true, either.

For now the Vulcan sits, cloaked in his Vulcan robes of black, in silent and dark quarters. Surely he is deep in meditation, for is the Vulcan way, and his eyes are too distant to be in the present.

What is he thinking? Something logical, no doubt.

It would not be that he is reminiscing. It would not be so that he is torturing himself with memories of days long since passed. Pondering what may have been is not logical, and therefore, this Vulcan would not be thinking of it.

It is not that the Vulcan is deteriorating. He does not feel the burden of a bond that has been ripped from him. His mind is as stable as it has ever been, for he does not feel the pain of losing a comrade. Vulcans do not experience such things.

Except.

He is half _human_.

It is true, in fact, that the half human is mourning. It is not in any way that would be visible to anyone but the ones that knew him well.

If James Kirk were still alive, the ex-Admiral would be worried. If Leonard McCoy were not thousands of light-years away, there would be a tonic concocted, something meant to calm nerves or perhaps induce dreamless sleep.

But, no. Neither of the men are with the half human. Neither friend.

One friend will never be again, in fact, and the thought tears away at him relentlessly.

His entire being protests that Life retains to be so unfair, after so many years. It is logical, but it does not hurt any less. It is not logical to feel that his heart is broken but still beating, and yet, he does. It is not logical to feel as though he has lost a part of himself, but he feels suddenly alone. He is a small part of a bigger scheme, just as James Kirk had been.

Death does not scare him. It never has.

Life without his best friend, however, now does.

The half human, cloaked in rich, deep folds of black, shifts his position. His head bows, his eyes close. Translucent wetness clings to dark eyelashes before it falls, forming tears that cascade down the sallow cheeks. None follow, but the sentiment is enough.

For Spock mourns the loss of his t'hy'la.

The world itself has become a little more dark.

* * *

**_Generations_. To quote our legendary hero; _"Oh my"_. **

**I sobbed. Like I had lost someone real. We all know legends die, but it is still so difficult to grasp.**

**I wanted to write this in Spock's POV. I'm still working on Post-_Generations_ for Spock, in his POV. But it's _so_ difficult. It's so raw and emotional and so _difficult_ to capture in his POV, that I ended up writing it this way. That being said, I do really enjoy this. I meant it to be very pensive and poignant and I hope I captured that.**

**I do not own _Star Trek_. Your thoughts really are appreciated since this is a new writing style for me. Thank you.**


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